


Gentle (With the Rising of the Sun)

by CanisMajor1234



Series: Moments [2]
Category: Deus Ex (Video Games), Deus Ex: Human Revolution
Genre: A little bit of angst, Jensen and Pritchard deserve nice things, M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, bonus points if you catch the FF reference, copious use of flashbacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-15
Updated: 2016-09-15
Packaged: 2018-08-15 06:14:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8045455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CanisMajor1234/pseuds/CanisMajor1234
Summary: "The lobby was mostly empty when they entered, the poor kid in charge of the night desk napping with his head on his arms. Jensen crossed easily, evenly, silent on his feet even with his arms full of sleepy hacker. The ride to the top floor was short enough. Through the glass, Jensen was able to see the first few rays of the sun creeping over the city that never slept. Their city, for as long as they hummed in tune with it."





	Gentle (With the Rising of the Sun)

The clink of porcelain on the desk. A cool hand coming to rest at the base of his neck. Jensen sighed, leaned back into it. Pritchard was cold again. He really needed to turn the heater up in his office.

“Camomile tea, not coffee. I don't think even your body could handle any more caffeine.” Pritchard leaned more heavily on Jensen’s shoulder, nose pressed at his temple. His voice was fuzzy with sleep. “Are you ready to go home yet?”

_Turtleneck. Jeans. Jacket. A pair of gloves. They didn’t fit perfectly- too tight around the shoulders, a little broad around the hips. But it was better than a hospital gown, so Jensen pulled them on gratefully, trying to work around Pritchard’s fluttering hands. The hacker got… touchy, when he was concerned. It was sometimes just better to ride it out._

_“And you have blood in your hair. How do you have blood in your hair? You were in the water for- I don’t know! Long enough to get the blood out!”_

_Jensen huffed a laugh. “I’ll take a shower when I get back to my apartment,” he said, pulling the jacket on. He turned when Pritchard was quiet for an unusually long moment._

_“Home,” Pritchard said decisively, without any context. He straightened the lapels of the jacket Jensen was wearing with a firm tug, smiling at the result. The smile became a smirk at Jensen’s confused expression. He clarified, “You’ll take a shower when you get home."_

Jensen hummed, twisting to give Pritchard a quick peck on the cheek. “Almost,” he promised. “Just let me finish filling these last couple forms out, and we can go home.”

The little grumble Pritchard let out was terribly endearing; Jensen was tempted to shut down his computer right then and there. He didn’t, though, because these forms were due three hours ago and Jensen already felt sorry for whoever had to handle his backlogs. Instead, he watched out of the corner of his eye as Pritchard staggered over to the couch beneath the window. The hacker’s ever-present ponytail was missing, leaving his hair to tumble messily over his shoulders. Three-day-old scruff covered his chin. The predawn lights of the city cast shadows across Pritchard’s face, deepening lines and accentuating scars.

One scar in particular across Pritchard's cheek caught Jensen's attention. It was a pale little thing, hardly noticeable unless you were looking for it, but it was there. The anger and resentment surrounding Sarif’s death had affected everyone who’s worked for him. The hacker has been no exception.

_Why did it hurt so much? It was a walk Jensen had made easily, a thousand times before. Less than fifty feet from garage exit to entrance of the building. It should have been easy._

_Apparently Jensen just couldn't. Not that particular day. Granted, there was a bullet wedge in his shoulder and the mechanics of his left hip were torn to all hell, but it wasn't anything he hadn’t dealt with before. He’d had worse. A lot worse._

_His left leg gave out five feet from the entrance, sending him sprawling against the concrete wall. It hurt. Badly. Where he could feel it. Like an electrical burn. Positive feedback loops. It would keep going, or even get worse, until he turned off the receptors._

Sarif… Jensen shook off thoughts of his old employer and tried to focus on his work. The sooner he got done, after all, the sooner he could get Pritchard home before the hacker became completely uncooperative. Jensen was suddenly glad he’d driven to work that morning; neither of them were in any condition to handle the beast of a motorcycle Pritchard affectionately called “Fenrir”.

Form packet A3-b submitted. Jensen went through the process of closing everything and shutting down his computer, carefully, because Pritchard could get rather serious about proper equipment care. It used to be that Jensen would leave his computer on- locked, of course, for security reasons- just to spite the man. Pritchard would leave “friendly reminders” on honest-to-god postit notes for when he got back. Sharp, clean letters, like the writer. At some point, it became as familiar to Jensen as his own messy scrawl.

After they pulled Jensen out of the ocean, those reminders became more legitimately friendly, if a bit threatening at times. “Remember to eat something.” “Dehydration lowers productivity.” “Go home and sleep at a reasonable time before I shut off your computer.” Pritchard's way of showing that he cared, as roundabout as it was.

_Fluttering hands, trying to find a way to help him without hurting him further. Spitting curses like an angry cat. A slight -umf- as Jensen let his weight fall a bit against the hacker._

_“What the fuck happened to you?” Pritchard demanded, pulling Jensen’s undamaged arm over his shoulders to help him better. “You look like you got ran over by a fucking truck.”_

_Jensen shook with laughter, even though it hurt. “Close,” he thought he muttered, though he might not have. “But not quite.”_

“Frank,” Jensen whispered, shaking the hacker’s shoulder gently. “C’mon. All you have to do is make it to the parking lot.” When Pritchard grumbled for five more minutes, Jensen huffed. “In not carrying you,” he said pointedly flicking Pritchard's forehead.

“Isn’t that-” Pritchard yawned, stretching his arms above his head and popping his shoulders. “What we filled out all those dumb HR forms for? So that we could be cute and adorable and they couldn't complain?”

Jensen chuckled. “I think there was some clause in there about public displays of affection at work,” he clarified. His hand hovered threateningly over Pritchard's ribs; the hacker was very, hilariously ticklish, and Jensen wouldn't hesitate to use that if he had to.

The glare Pritchard gave him was flinch-worthy, but his little smile gave him away. Pritchard was definitely unsteady on his feet; Jensen had to bite his tongue to hold back the scolding that was just behind his teeth. His boyfriend or not, Pritchard was a grown-ass man. Berating him like a particularly disobedient child just felt… weird. And wrong.

Pritchard sank into the leather passenger seat with a happy little sigh. Jensen felt a little guilty for keeping the hacker so late. It took the both of them to keep each other healthy; if one of them slacked off, they both suffered. Jensen sometimes had trouble remembering that not everyone ran on batteries.

_Pritchard cut through his pants with the finesse of a man comfortable with a blade. Black hydraulic fluid had soaked the fabric right through. The hacker frowned as he peeled it away._

_Part of it was crushed. A bullet had gone through another part. Large sections of wiring were torn or frayed. Pritchard cussed up a storm as he worked at wiping away the fluids and pinching off the ruptured tubes. The supplies are in his apartment, but he needed to get Jensen stable before he could run and get them._

_Turn off the pain receptors. Get the bullet out of the shoulder. Make sure that there aren't any hidden injuries, any broken bones or internal bleeding. Jensen was pretty far gone by the time Pritchard managed to tape up his rib._

_“I'll be right back,” Pritchard promised, urging Jensen's face up so that they could see eye to eye. “Don't you dare die on me.”_

_Foggy gold eyes followed him out the door._

“We need milk for cereal,” Pritchard slurred as the engine hummed to life. He curled against the door, seatbelt pulled so not to cut into his skin, head pillowed against the window. “And food for Casper. His feeder’s running low.”

“We’ll pick it up in the morning,” Jensen assured with a small chuckle, reaching over with one hand to brush the hair out of his partner’s face. It really did get everywhere when it wasn't tied back. How Pritchard handled it, Jensen had no earthly idea.

The drive to the Chiron building was a short one. Jensen pulled into his spot beside Fenrir and clicked his car off with a sigh. They could sleep in here, if they really wanted to, in their car, parked in the shitty little underground garage across the street from their building. Their backs wouldn't thank them for it, but at that point Jensen was just so _tired_ . A bone-deep kind of exhaustion that told him Pritchard must _really_ be burnt out.

_Exhausted, Pritchard dropped in his ass next to the couch and rested his head against his wrists. His hands were covered in hydraulic fluid and blood and God knows what else. He was fairly certain he’d aggravated his carpal tunnel trying to get all those little bits of metal out of Jensen’s shoulder; the bullet looked like it’d fragmented in impact. No wonder Jensen invested in a dark leather couch, if he came home like this all the time._

_A cold hand dropped into his hair, careful, like he still wasn't sure of his own strength. Pritchard moved to bat it away then stopped. Set his hand back in his lap. Leaned into those cautious touches._

_“You really scared me, you know.”_

_“You just got off work,” Jensen said, slurred, like the words didn't fit right in his mouth._

_“And you're observational skills are, as always, impeccable,” Pritchard snarked. His heart wasn't in it, though._

_“You should be asleep.” Tired. Worn, like he was barely holding on to his last vestiges of consciousness. He doesn't feel safe here, Pritchard realized. Here, in his own apartment, Jensen still didn't feel safe._

_“I'll be fine for a while yet.” A lie. Pritchard had just gotten off work. He should be sleeping. But it has just struck him- how often had Jensen been sitting down here, awake until exhaustion took him?_

_“You need to rest.”_

In the end, Jensen shook off his grogginess and kicked himself in gear. It was just a short walk to the elevator, then to their apartment. Jensen walked over to Pritchard’s side and lifted him easily out of the car. The hacker wasn't overly light, and that made Jensen smile. It meant that Pritchard was eating enough, if maybe not regularly, but that was a huge step forward from where he had been.

The lobby was mostly empty when they entered, the poor kid in charge of the night desk napping with his head on his arms. Jensen crossed easily, evenly, silent on his feet even with his arms full of sleepy hacker. The ride to the top floor was short enough. Through the glass, Jensen was able to see the first few rays of the sun creeping over the city that never slept. Their city, for as long as they hummed in tune with it.

But in the moment, their tune was one of soft comfort and sleep. Jensen's key was in his back pocket, but Pritchard had rigged the lock to register the signatures of both their neural implants- maybe not for this exact reason, but it worked. The door swung open, lights coming on dim. A brown and white husky greeted them at the door with the softest of barks.

_“... And they didn't know if you were going to live and- I'm sorry, Adam.”_

_Jensen pushed away from his computer with a sigh, eyes falling on the empty picture frame beside the monitor. The picture was gone. Everything from their apartment was gone. Now even Kubrick. At this rate, he wouldn't have anything left to remember Megan by._

_An ache in his chest. A spike in his heartbeat. The infolink buzzed to get his attention._

_“You alright, Jensen?” Pritchard asked, sharp, impatient, but still somehow soft and concerned. Busy, but worried. Jensen took a shuddering breath._

“Hey, Casper,” Pritchard greeted sleepily, reaching down to scratch the dog’s head as they passed. Casper licked at his fingers happily, following them right up to the bedroom door; the rule was no dogs in the bedroom, as instituted by Pritchard the first day they brought Casper home. Not that Pritchard himself didn't break the rule and call Casper over to the bed when Jensen wasn't home, but Casper was at least still considerate of the boundary.

Pritchard was out again before his head even hit the pillow. His jacket was eased off with a bit of careful shifting and was hung up in the side of the closet filled with browns, reds, and soft golds. Jensen’s side of the closet is monochromatic, light grays to deep blacks, as evenly spaced as he can managed. His own jacket fits neatly into the empty space. Shoes next- pairs of slip-filled shoes that spilled over into Jensen’s side because, while he didn't have more than two pairs, Pritchard liked to match his outfits. Socks went in the dirty laundry basket. The rest, Jensen supposed, could be dealt with later.

The spot next to him was cold, but Pritchard ran hot enough for the both of them. With the covers pulled up, Jensen could feel himself finally getting properly warm; he’d had trouble regulating his body temperature properly ever since they pulled him out of the waters around Panchaea. Any longer, the doctors had said, and if he’d survived it would have been with serious brain damage. As it were, they said, homeostasis would just be much more difficult to attain.

_“You’re lucky to be alive,” Doctor Song said, old but quick fingers adjusting the drip of his IV. “Second time you've cheated death. Don't throw this chance away either, yes?”_

_Pritchard knocked lightly on the doorframe, that familiar, infuriating smirk on his face. Jensen wasn't sure he’d ever been so glad to see it. “He ready to go, doc?”_

_Doctor Song looked between them with a smile, placed a hand on Jensen's arm. “I'll have the papers brought right up.”_

Pritchard had the kind of skin that always looked tan, no matter how little time he actually spent outside. In the soft glow of the morning sun, he practically glowed. If Jensen focused, he could see a little smarting of freckles on the hacker’s shoulder, a pair of dots on the bridge of his nose where a piercing had once been. Beneath the blanket, nestled in the shallow in front of his elbow, there was a set of fading track marks. He’d been using less and less since they got together.

_“I think… You're on your own, Adam.” Voice twisted by static, but Jensen caught it. Pritchard sounded…_

_“Careful, Francis. You almost sound like you regret that.” Soft. Gentle. Jensen waited a few minutes in white noise before switching off communications. He could only hope he’d been heard._

Jensen had assumed that finding Megan had been his second chance. He’s been given a mission, with priorities and purpose. And maybe he hadn't been happy, but he hadn't been… well, actually, maybe he had been. Sad. Suicidal, almost, throwing himself against every danger like a man with nothing to lose. A danger to himself. And he hadn't cared.

_The lights were way too bright when Jensen blinked his eyes open. He shut them quickly enough, but they left clusters of rainbow dots dancing behind his eyelids. Deep breath. Status report: nothing hurt too badly, but that might as well have been due to the IV in his collarbone. All augment systems were online._

A warm hand rested on top of his own.

_Soft eyes, brown with gold flecks that could only be seen in the right light._

A voice, hoarse with sleep. “Adam?”

_Jensen made a little noise of question in his throat._

“I can hear you thinking. Go to sleep.”


End file.
